I realized that I know too many people who don’t know what its like to be in a crowed bus. The thought scared me more than the bus ride itself and those bus rides have me praying and preparing to meet my maker at times.
So let’s take a moment to reflect on the daily joys of public transport, especially those Leyland buses that are packed with people to the likes of sardine.
The woman fortunate enough to get a seat, glares at the man standing next to her as though she’s been violated every time the conductor pushes by, forcing him to lean over to make way. The old man with a handle bar moustache creepily staring at the pretty young girl, who along with everyone else is sweating in the scorching heat. Everyone now wonders why they even bothered ironing their clothes, because by the time they get off, the well-pressed shirts and saris with be look as though it was fresh out from the washing machine.
The little boy who got a seat on the sunny side of the bus cursing the large man seated next to him. The large man has his legs spread like a common whore taking up most of the space. Leaving the little boy sitting uncomfortably on one butt cheek.
Everyone knows this is just half the struggle. There is of course the journey back home.